Over the past 15 years, I have been fortunate to draw a number of quality tags with the assistance of Huntin’ Fool. My younger brother, Dave, has accompanied me on many of those hunts, acting as my spotter and pack mule without complaint. We have shared some amazing experiences while hunting, both on my draw hunts in the United States and in our home province of British Columbia. Unfortunately, Dave has not had the financial resources to play the application game, so I have not had the opportunity to support him on hunts the way he has supported me. At Christmas, I decided to change that. As a thank you, I told Dave that I would take him on a fly-in Stone sheep hunt the following fall. As British Columbia residents, we are able to hunt Stone sheep on over-the-counter tags. Needless to say, Dave was pumped about the prospect of harvesting his first ram.
Fast forward to the following August, and Dave and I were on our way to the northern Rocky Mountains. After two days of driving, we boarded a Cessna 206 bound for a remote mountain lake. At the lake, we unloaded our gear, hung extra provisions in a tree out of reach of the plentiful grizzly bears, and hit the trail. Three hours and an icy creek crossing later, we made camp for the evening.
The next morning, we completed the pack in and set up our spike camp. Our plan was to hunt a four-mile long valley that had a series of steep-walled basins along its southern edge and a rocky ridge on its north side. The area looked like perfect sheep habitat, and we were into game our first afternoon, spotting caribou, elk, sheep, goats, and a big bull moose.
On day two, our plan was to hunt several of the basins branching south off the main valley. The first basin did not yield any sheep, but from the mouth of the second basin, I spotted a three-quarter curl ram on the ridge across the main valley. Dave elected to continue glassing while I walked further into the basin. A hundred yards from Dave, I glassed back across the valley and spotted another, larger ram. I hurried back to Dave, who was already watching the ram through his spotting scope. Further glassing revealed an additional seven rams, all in a hanging basin 2,000 feet above the valley floor.
The initial ram we had spotted appeared to be legal for curl, while a second ram also warranted a further look. Unfortunately, given the time of day and the location of the rams, a stalk that day was out of the question. We watched the rams for the rest of the afternoon, putting them to bed, and then headed back to camp.
After a sleepless night, we returned to our vantage point. We quickly spotted three rams on a small ridge just east of the hanging basin, including the ram that was legal for curl. As we watched, the rams moved towards the top end of the basin and out of sight, creating an opportunity for us to ascend the opposite side of the small ridge out of view of the rams. After talking things over, we decided to make a play on the sheep, notwithstanding the challenging location of the rams. The slope up to the hanging basin was nearly vertical, but as Dave said at the time, the rams were not coming down to us.
The stalk up the mountain was as challenging as we expected. After the first 500 vertical feet, we were into cliffs and scree slopes. We carefully worked our way up, crossing one last chute before reaching the grassy slopes above. To cross the chute, we had to step across a three-foot void onto a downward-sloping, gravel-covered slab. There were some tense moments, but we made it.
Once on the grassy slopes, we climbed higher and then peeked over the ridge into the hanging basin. Our first look revealed a single ram as the terrain prevented us from seeing into the upper end of the basin. We ascended further, and I eased over the ridge a second time. Looking into the top end of the hanging basin, I could not believe my eyes. There were 15 rams bedded there, and 4 of them were big, mature animals at or near full curl. I turned to Dave with my mouth hanging open and signaled that we had hit the mother lode.
When Dave joined me, we soon picked out the full curl ram that we had seen from the valley below, my brother’s intended target. As the rams got up to feed, Dave kept track of the full curl ram while I searched for a second legal ram. In British Columbia, it is legal to take either a full curl ram or one that is 8 years old or older as judged by the annuli on his horns. I picked out the largest ram in the group, one with massive, battle-scarred horns, and soon determined he was legal for age.
With two legal rams identified, we decided to try for a double. The plan was to count down “three-two-one” and then shoot simultaneously. Dave’s ram was feeding amongst the group of rams, forcing him to switch back and forth between rifle and spotting scope to ensure he was on the right ram, so it took some time for both of us to line up on our respective rams. When we were both finally set, I counted down. At the end of the countdown, I waited for Dave to shoot, wanting him to secure his ram before I shot as he had not previously taken a sheep. I am still not sure why, but Dave did not shoot until I looked over at him and whispered urgently, “Shoot!”
Turning back to my ram, I settled the crosshairs just behind his shoulder and squeezed the trigger just as Dave fired. Reacquiring my ram in the scope after the shot, I saw that he had turned to face me. As I centered the crosshairs on his chest for a second shot, he wobbled back and forth and tipped over. No second shot necessary.
With my ram down, I turned to watch Dave’s ram, which, although hit, was walking away. Dave shot the ram three more times before it finally lay down and then tipped over on its back. Unbelievably, we had two rams down!
We approached my ram first, an old warrior with horns that carried the mass out to the tips, and aged him at 11 1/2 years old. Turning to Dave’s ram, we discovered a beautiful, full- curl 8 1/2-year-old ram, a fantastic first ram. Lifting the head of his sheep, Dave was overcome by emotion. It is difficult to explain to those who have not experienced it, but there really is nothing like taking your first ram.
After photos, we caped and processed our respective rams, finishing at sunset. There was no way we could descend the treacherous mountain in the dark, so we packed the meat and heads a few hundred yards away from the kill site and settled in for a long night at 6,200 feet of elevation. We angled Dave’s siltarp up against a large boulder, put on every stitch of clothing we had with us, rolled ourselves in our survival blankets, and prepared to suffer.
The wind during the night was atrocious. The 50 mile-an- hour gusts coming down the mountain sounded like a 747 coming in for a landing and chilled us to the bone. At about midnight, we relocated to a more sheltered spot against a larger boulder, but it was still a miserable night. I do not think either of us slept a wink, and the first hints of dawn were a welcome sight.
In the morning, we took a moment to remember a close friend and fellow sheep hunter who had passed away unexpectedly the year prior, building a cairn on top of the boulder against which we had slept. We then descended the mountain to our spike camp for some much needed and well-earned rest. Over the next three days, we packed out the rams and our gear and were home two days after that.
When I gifted my brother with the sheep hunt, I thought I would just be along as the spotter and pack mule. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that, in addition to Dave taking his first sheep, I would also end up taking my best ram to date. There is something to be said for good karma!
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